


The One Where Leatherface Fucks a Pumpkin

by orphan_account



Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Absurd, Anal Play, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blood, Brothers, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Decay, Dysfunctional Family, Filthy, Food Kink, Food Sex, Gross, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Torture, Maggots, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Messy, Minor Injuries, Murder, Necrophilia, Nipple Play, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Objectification, Other, Pumpkins, Slime, Vegetables, Why Did I Write This?, a pumpkin with a rude shape, also relevant, decomposition, drayton tries his best but it goes sideways, references to the following, rot, sawyers being sawyers, that fetish for having insects crawl around on your skin, there i think that's all the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27136273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's exactly what you think it is - and more.(Happy Halloween.)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	The One Where Leatherface Fucks a Pumpkin

* * *

It’d got an unusual shape to it, curved and full but with a pleat down the middle – a crease – like a big orange rump just hanging out and mooning everybody who passed it by. The twins couldn’t stop giggling about it – making comments about it, telling jokes. Bubba had touched it – just – it looked so smooth and inviting and was such a pretty orange, like a bright rubber ball. He did it without even thinking. Didn’t mean for it to look dirty – wasn’t even on his mind that it _could_ – and Nubbins cackled and tattled on him, told Chop Top, and by the time news trickled on over to Drayton, he’d been _defiling_ the pumpkin according to them both. Drayton hadn’t liked the pumpkin to begin with – said it was rude – but after that, he got meaner than bobcat, hissing and spitting, and ‘ _Damn it, that’s enough! You idiots best go out and get us another pumpkin – a decent pumpkin – before you bring embarrassment to the family, leaving that – that – that squash pornography all over the front step._

He’d tasked Bubba with disposing of the pumpkin – partly because the others were off finding a new one, and partly as some kind of… gesture? Bubba couldn’t understand what, exactly. Drayton got that way where s-e-c-x was involved. Condemning it outright, screaming bloody murder when the twins talked about it, but when Bubba showed a bit of curiosity, he seemed to pity him. He put a stop to the real bad stuff – when he was younger and just coming into manhood sometimes eating made Bubba get all pokey – all those sweet and salty spices tickling his tongue and his belly feeling full and heavy. He used to squirm at the dinner table, trying to make the funny feeling go away by wiggling against the inseam of his pants. Drayton put a stop to that right quick – beat the tar out of him – but after that, he also gave the younger Sawyer more privacy to ‘do whatever he had to do,’ provided he did it in private. He’d always give the younger man permission in an awkward, roundabout way, his eyes twinkling. If it got bad while they were working, Bubba would whine and motion to his belt and Drayton would shoo the other brothers away and say ‘leave him to it – don’t torment him, now, he’s not clever enough to understand what’s happening to him’ and that would be that.

The pumpkin fell under the same jurisdiction. Drayton handed it to him with that awkward twinkle and shrugged a bit, averting his eyes.

“Boys’ll be out for a while – it’s at least an hour’s drive to the pumpkin patch. Don’t do it in the house – or anywhere people’ll see you.”

Bubba lugged the pumpkin to an empty storage barn on the edge of the property. It was rundown – rarely in use – but the old, moldy hay was comfortable enough to kneel down on. He found a sawhorse and set the pumpkin on it. The height was better that way – easier to reach.

He was already hardening. Taking his penis out made him feel afraid – vulnerable – for a moment, being as even in the barn there was a chance someone could come in and catch him at it, but the sight of that luscious plump pumpkin chased the worries from his head.

He shuffled awkwardly forward and let his cock lie flat against the pumpkin. Its skin was cool, hard, and deceptively rough, not like real flesh-curves at all, but the little cleft in the dimpled vegetable was just the right depth to rut against, and he liked the scraping feeling, really, the texture novel and strange. His skin caught with each pass of his hips, so he let a big glob of drool fall from his open mouth to coat himself. It slicked him good – just enough to take the edge off, but not enough to spoil the sensation. He smiled goofily down at himself. It looked funny – a big orange pumpkin, the thick peachy skin of his shaft and the little ruddy head that appeared and disappeared as his foreskin slid over his glans. He giggled quietly, big hands gripping each side of the pumpkin, licking his chapped lips and unbrushed teeth.

He wished the pumpkin had a body attached to it. It would’ve been nice to see it as a woman. Bubba was reasonably sure he was supposed to want to do this to a woman. If he’d thought ahead he could’ve borrowed a torso and propped it up, never mind that going at it dog-style like this, her bosoms would be facing the other way on a real girl. Drayton didn’t like him doing that – didn’t want him ‘dirtying the meat.’ Bubba had been curious once and he’d wrapped a few raw strips of bacon around himself, and the cold, fatty, supple meat had made him feel real good. He’d gotten his white stuff all on that bacon and he’d wiped it clean and no one had been the wiser when they ate it for breakfast the next day, so Bubba wasn’t sure why it mattered. The meat hadn’t tasted dirty – hadn’t tasted different at all. Still, the thought of bringing his older brother’s anger down on him scared him such that he would never have dared risk taking any parts for his own enjoyment – not human parts at least. Hog parts were less dangerous – an inferior kind of meat to begin with. Drayton still wouldn’t like it if he found out, but Bubba knew he’d get less of a beating if he were caught. Still, there were safer ways to come off – just with his hands, or rubbing on the base of his chainsaw with the motor running. Wasn’t worth the risk to be tampering with meat.

Bubba found one of his hands wandering to the stem of the pumpkin. The stem was long and curved, the vine rough against his hand. It filled his palm in a way that was both familiar and not familiar. If he imagined the pumpkin as a boy, that made some things easier. No bosoms on a boy. Bubba wasn’t sure it was alright to do this with boys – he was sure he could remember Drayton saying something about it and getting all kinds of upset but he didn’t understand most of the words his brother was using. He bit his lip in agitation, grunting at the confusing memories as he pumped the stem like it was his own cock. He thought of how he felt when he wore the skin of a woman – smoother and softer than that of a man – and it made imagining the pumpkin as a boy much less confusing.

Delicate and feminine, the pretty woman studied the hard wood in her hand. It was thin and short but it was curved nicely – it would rub all kinds of pleasure on the inside. She rubbed her thumb over the rough texture. Would it scrape if she put it inside? No – that was silly – did a bull’s cock leave splinters in a cow when they bred? No sir, it didn’t. Confident in her reasoning, she slid herself into position, graceful in spite of her bulkiness, and stuck the tip of the stem up against her entrance. One deep breath to ready herself and down and down and dry and pain and _tearing –_

Bubba howled, recoiling and scrambling backwards, blinking tears out of his eyes. A probe of his fingers confirmed he was bleeding. He would need help fixing himself up – the thought of Drayton advancing on him with a cotton swab and the strong-smelling liquid from the medicine cabinet made him blub in distress. It was a bad sting, that ointment – he’d get it put on scrapes and cuts to keep it from going rotten – he didn’t want to go rotten, but he didn’t want no more pain, neither.

Stupid pumpkin whore.

Bubba kicked it, aggravated, and it sank in on one side, ruining the view. It wasn’t a rump anymore. It looked no more inviting than a crushed skull. Good for eating, sure, but not for fucking. Not to him, anyway.

He left it there, limped back to the house, and hid.

It didn’t work – the house was small, and he was big, and Nubbins was a mean, mean brother to tattle on him.

“Drayton! Bubba’s bleedin’!”

He swiped at his brother and attempted to cover the dark stain on the seat of his pants at the same time, failing in both respects. Drayton scrambled out of the kitchen, ladle in hand, looking madder than a hornet.

“Whatchu gone and done this time, boy?” he growled. “Whatchu been messin’ with?”

“He’s been puttin’ things up his butt again!” Nubbins cackled, setting Chop-Top off as well, the pair of them like a couple of mangey hyenas.

“This true?” Drayton snapped, and Bubba cowered, covering his mask with his hands and whimpering.

“I’ll belt you – tell me the truth!”

Bubba nodded and Drayton cursed, hauling the larger man to his feet and kicking him hard in the shin to get him stumbling towards the bathroom. He began rifling through the medicine cabinet, muttering furiously. Bubba trembled, clenching and unclenching his fists in agitation.

“Drop trou and spread ‘em, mister. Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself.”

Bubba couldn’t help but obey. He hung his head, scolded and ashamed as a child due a spanking. Drayton sighed and grumbled.

“It’s not that bad – thank God for that. What if you’d torn yourself clear open and let all your intestines spill out? You damn fool – what’s so important about rootin’ around up there, anyway? Why can’t you just whack your weasel like everybody else?”

Bubba sobbed as the burning liquid met his wounded skin. Drayton cleaned the cut, then dried him with some toilet paper.

“Put your clothes back on. Just so’s you learn your lesson, you can wear the dirty ones ‘til bedtime. Ain’t no sense stainin’ another pair of drawers.”

Bubba nodded, sniffling, and slowly tugged his clothes back on, fumbling with his belt.

“Did you even get your rocks off earlier or were you too busy mutilatin’ yourself?”

Bubba blinked, processing the question, and then ruefully shook his head. He scowled at the thought of that stupid pumpkin and all the grief it had brought him. Drayton sighed and shook his head.

“What did I do to deserve this? The Atlas of working men – carrying the weight of the world on these here shoulders. You’re draggin’ me down, boy. You’re draggin’ me into the dirt. You know that? Don’t you ever feel sorry for it?”

Bubba blinked at him again.

“Of course you don’t – takes more brains than what you’ve got to feel sorry for little old me, huh? Shit. You jus’ get out of here – go on – before I decide to belt you after all. Go listen to the radio with Chop-Top or somethin’, Christ.”

Bubba dutifully did as he was told. The twins jeered at him as he sat down with a flinch and a soft moan of distress. He couldn’t sit comfortably and in frustration he lay down on the floor, pressing his face against the hardwood, the ground cool against the skin – eyelids and lips – not covered by his mask.

“Drayton’s real mad at you,” Nubbins snickered. His twin elbowed him hard.

“Lay off him, will you, man? You’re talkin’ through the best part of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.”

Bubba shut his eyes and pretended he could not hear their bickering. In time, it became a dull roar like the music, and Drayton puttering in the kitchen, and the chirping of the crickets outside in the still of the dark, Texas night.

After that, Bubba forgets about the pumpkin. He forgets about it until a week or so later, when he’s looking for an ear he’d left drying on the farmhouse windowsill. Likely as not, birds had got it, but he looked just the same. Drayton and the twins were bickering and he didn’t like it when they were bickering. It was easier to just go off by himself.

The quiet was disrupted by the sound of flies buzzing. Bubba stopped in place, scratching at the back of his mask, the place where leather stuck to hot, sweating skin. The sun had got to him in the small strip of bare flesh between mask and collar and it itched real bad, flaking off in big peeling pieces beneath his blunt nails.

There weren’t bodies in the barn. Not – this – barn, with the roof caved in on one side. Maybe an animal died in there? Would have to be a wild one – no hogs around the place.

Bubba wandered in, curious, and there he saw the pumpkin.

In decay, it had fallen from its impromptu pedestal and now lay, broken, on the ground. It was a puckered, blackened thing, now, deflating and swarming with flies. He remembered the shape of it, and the way it had hurt him, and growled a bit. Served it right for trying to tear his insides all out.

Still – he hadn’t gotten to finish the last time – spoiled as it was by that damn splintering vine. He hadn’t gotten any time to finish after neither, what with the house always crowded and someone looking on. He rubbed himself absently, considering the pumpkin – what was left of it.

Shucking his clothes like a man-sized ear of corn, he lowered himself to the ground and crawled towards the thing. He touched it with the tip of one finger – the side gave a bit, puckering beneath the pressure. It smelled sweet and musty, like a pumpkin pie gone bad. The flies parted, warned off by his bulk, leaving only soft squash and a wriggling bed of maggots before him.

He pushed his hips forward and let himself rest, balls and cock in the slime. The maggots were nice – felt ticklish on him, their tiny bodies writhing and brushing against all the sensitive spots. He began to thrust shallowly and let his eyes roll back at the sensation.

Oh – it was good – so much better than the nasty vine or even the unyielding firmness of the gourd when it was fresh. This was silky and wet, the fibrous strands and pumpkin seeds textured just enough to make each poke with his pecker feel different and interesting. He pinched his nipples as his hips worked, the soft swell of his flabby chest filling his palms. He had nipples that were sensitive as a girl’s – Drayton had told him so, scolded him for it when he yelped once when his elder brother was helping patch him up after a victim got particularly uncooperative. Bubba didn’t know if it was so – but he trusted his brother’s judgement. He didn’t know why having sensitive skin there would be a problem – didn’t understand the shame of feminization. If anything, it made him feel good and pokey like slipping on lady underthings did sometimes, all that soft cloth pressed up against his bits. Made him feel special – different from his brothers. Better? Not nice to think that. Unique… sure.

Bubba tugged at his tender nipples and watched his cock drag trails in the vegetable miasma. Occasionally, particularly confident flies dared to land on him – he swatted what he could, but the clever ones went behind, where he couldn’t reach as easily. He felt one land on the beefy globe of his right ass-cheek, its tiny feet dancing over his skin. He shivered and let out a huffing sound. It felt great – a tingly, tickly pleasure his own big hands were too rough to inspire. He bent forward, resting his weight on his elbows, and spread his thighs until he felt a burn between his legs, the muscles under strain. He lowered his belly into the slime, his hard cock too, and his balls, full and aching, dangled down like a bull’s. He felt more flies land on the exposed skin of his perineum and sac and skitter there and the feeling was amazing.

Digging his fingers into the dirt floor of the barn, Bubba began to fuck the remains of the pumpkin hard, the thrusts brutal and violent and clumsy. The weight of his body crushed the squash further and soon he was just fucking a muddy puddle of rotten produce and maggots. Their tiny bodies popped beneath him, each one erupting with fluid that added to the slick pit he was fucking.

Orgasm came quick – he wasn’t one for drawing things out – too animalistic in his appetite. He felt his balls draw up and his asshole clench and then he was pumping ropes of hot jism out onto the ground. It went on and on – he moaned open-mouthed and swallowed great mouthfuls of air, his gooey cream dribbling into the mess. He fucked and bellowed and came until he sobbed.

When at last he was done, he fell backwards against a hay bale, cock softening, and surveyed the damage. He was filthy – his belly and between his legs was smeared with filth. He knew he’d catch hell if Drayton caught him dirty like this, but he was too worn-out to move. He let his eyes slide shut behind his mask, cock lying, softer now, against his hip.

He’d clean all of it up just as soon as he had a bit of shut-eye.


End file.
